


Immeasurable Strength

by LauraScott94



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Abduction, Gen, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:37:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16699075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraScott94/pseuds/LauraScott94
Summary: The team are targeted by an old foe. Will they defeat them in time? What happens when one agent is put in grave danger?New story, same name. Original story fizzled out many years ago, but from somewhere deep and dark, this new idea emerged. No pairings at this time. Will be dark and violent. Somewhat graphic. EVERY chapter will have trigger warnings so please read them. (Also posted on ff.net).





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, here’s the deal. Six years ago, I had an idea for a story, which never amounted to anything. I had a vision for the story. I think. Nothing came of it, and I left several readers in the dark.  
> So, let’s get real here. I’ve struggled with a complex concoction of mental illnesses from a seriously young age. Things have snowballed before, but eighteen months ago I lost a job that I loved, looking after children that I loved. I bounced from job to job, eventually having to move home, which has been nothing but a wholly traumatising location. A major diagnosis and the sudden death of my beloved Labrador, Kipper, within the space of twelve hours, became a catalyst for a downhill landslide. I spent a quarter of this year in a private psychiatric hospital (two actually), and have finally, for the first time in my entire life (or the life that I remember), I feel in control. I sleep, I eat, I breathe, and the pain isn’t so acute anymore.  
> Anyway, I haven’t had ANY inspiration to write in nearly a year, so when I found a long-buried story idea in an old notebook, I rolled with it. And, here we go. A story that has taken on a life of its own. This story has a solid trajectory, which I think may lead somewhere.  
> Now, here’s the things you need to know.  
> 1\. This story is definitely NOT for those under 18. It will be violent, at times graphic, and involve a lot of different levels of suffering, including physical, psychological and emotional.  
> 2\. It will NOT be a continuation of the story I published as Immeasurable Strength, although it does have the same name and is published in the same document(?) that the original story was, in the vain hope that it makes up for the five year gap in updates.  
> 3\. Every single chapter will have comprehensive trigger warnings. EVERY. SINGLE. CHAPTER. Some of the warning labels may seem obvious or unnecessary, but I will put them in regardless, because there is no such thing as a ‘silly’ trigger. I know how difficult it is to deal with triggers. I’ve found that the most disruptive triggers are found in areas such as FanFiction, where I come for safety and escape. There is NO excuse for someone to leave out trigger warnings, when it is very well-known that many people come to these sites to seek support. So, I will always include trigger warnings – that is an absolute, iron-clad promise.  
> 4\. I will update as often as I can, but I do ask for patience. I work with four young children, have a multitude of doctor and therapy appointments each week, and, to be honest, I still have rough patches. Everyone does.  
> So, have patience, and I will do my best to deliver. Happy reading.  
> (P.S. I’m Australian, so if there are any spelling “errors”, please take that into account. I’m also happy to explain or edit any words that you may not understand. I tried to keep everything user-friendly, but we all overlook things at some point.)  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: physical violence, unprovoked attack, surprise attack, forced restraint, forced blindfolding, forced confinement

¬¬¬Friday. Dawn.

A tickle forms deep inside Emily’s throat as she battles against the frigid wind to get to her car. Heels clicking, she questions her decision to carry her thick overcoat instead of wearing it. In theory, it made sense - she is only walking a short distance from the front steps of the apartment building to her car, which is parked just up the road under a street light. However, choosing to ignore her current condition is proving to be a mistake as she notes a subtle tightening in her chest due to the cold. With her breath beginning to crackle in her throat, she steps off the curb and rounds the bonnet of her SUV, dumping her handbag and laptop bag on top of it. She puts the keys in the ignition after unlocking the doors, turning the engine over to start the flow of warm air throughout the interior, before tossing her coat onto the passenger seat and setting her travel cup in the holder between the seats. Lifting her remaining belongings off the car, her gaze flits momentarily to the car’s windscreen, when movement catches her eye.

Emily is moving before she has even processed what she’s seen. Her purse and laptop are abandoned, left to find their own way to the pavement as her hands focus on unclipping her holster and drawing the weapon it holds. The contents of the bags spew out in all directions; however, it is the strong hand that seizes her wrist that holds her attention. The body behind her flies forward with such force that when Emily is crushed between it and the bonnet of the SUV, any air that her body holds is ripped out and stolen by the wind. A ragged cough accompanies it, followed by a pain in her chest that is so intense it’s nearly blinding. Her left arm is tightly pinned against the car, her head also trapped by the strong hand, but this doesn’t deter her from fighting.

Lifting her right leg up as far as she can, Emily delivers a swift, forceful blow to the man’s knee, forcing him to stumble backwards a few steps. With his hands off her body, she rips her gun out of its holster and spins around to confront her attacker head on. By this point, her breathing is rapid and shallow, and her vision is starting to swim. Spinning around so fast has only increased her dizziness, but nevertheless, she knows that she cannot stop to rest. Just as everything is beginning to become clear to her, she feels a body slam into her, lifting her feet off the ground and sending her careening backward toward the tar road.

At this point, everything stops. Nothing happens for a split second. She does not breathe, she cannot see, and she does not move. For that second, there is no light, no sound, and no sensation. And then, with the force of a freight train, everything returns.

Pain explodes throughout her body, quickly settling in her head. A desperate gasp brought only a small amount of air into her lung, with a spasmodic series of coughs expelling it almost instantly. She can taste blood, can feel it trickling down her throat, but she has no energy to concentrate on finding its source. There is a shrill ringing filling her ears. Emily is not focused on this, however. Instead, her attention is resting solely on the blinding agony caused by her fall. She can barely see and even then, what she can see are no more than small pockets of light amongst the darkness. Aside from this, there is nothing.

The man stands up, looming over the prone figure on the ground in front of him. His breathless form towers above her writhing body, chest heaving, as he watches her roll to her side, reaching out to grasp out at the ground in front of her. Taking one final, satisfied look in Emily’s direction, he moves away, collecting the woman’s discarded belongings. A few small items have fallen from her purse, including a couple tampons, a tube of lip balms, and her phone. The man seems to consider the device but hesitates only for a moment before smashing it with his foot and kicking it under the car. The last thing he collects is Emily’s weapon, which had flown from her hands when she made contact with the bitumen. Before he turns away he reaches into the SUV that is humming away next to him and yanks the keys out of the ignition, throwing them carelessly into the back seat before slamming the door shut.

With the items secured in his own vehicle still idling just behind hers, the man returns to Emily’s side with a black cloth bag, which he roughly pulls over her head. Having regained slight cognizance, she lifts her hands to the hood and weakly attempts to remove it, only to have her wrists once again captured. After securing her left wrist in one side of a pair of disposable restraints, the man manoeuvres Emily onto her stomach and forces her remaining hand into the adjoining cuff, before standing and wrapping his fist around the back of the collars of her shirt and blazer.

Emily’s suit pants scrape against the road, beginning to fray as she is dragged quickly and efficiently towards the rear of her attacker’s vehicle. She is in the boot of the car before she knows what is happening and rapidly becomes aware of the lurching movements she is experiencing as the car starts to drive away from her apartment. She can feel a warm liquid lazily dripping across her forehead, pooling in the hair beside her right ear.

She tries to stay conscious for as long as possible, but the vehicle has barely turned the first corner when she finally succumbs to the pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welcome back! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. The holiday season always throws me through a loop, hence the time between chapters. In other news, I got virtually no notifications of alerts or favourites, and only a few reviews (thank you to those people), so I am going into this second chapter a bit blindly. I was considering ditching the story altogether, but I concluded that, while I do write for the reader, I also write for myself. So, I will carry on, even if no one reads it!  
> If you are reading it, please enjoy…
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: confined spaces, forced restraint, forced blindfolding, physical violence, adult language

Friday. 0724.

The whining hinges of the car boot are the eventual trigger that pulls Emily back to consciousness. Before the boot was opened, the air that had surrounded her had been stale, and suffocatingly thick; however, she is soon convinced that it was the more desirable option, as the crisp, icy wind swirls around her. She can already feel her chest tightening in response, a chesty cough escaping her barely parted lips. Her breathing is still heavy, but that is more as a response to pain than her previous exertion. It is still trapped within her skull. However, it has morphed from a sharp, agonising sensation to a more generalised ache that seemed to encompass her whole body. Had she stayed still, it is likely that the pain would not have changed so drastically, but the second her body is forced by a strong, rough hand into a semi-sitting position, a deeply-rooted throbbing begins to overwhelm her. The hand is clamped tightly around her left bicep, and is pulling her forward until she is leaning awkwardly out of her temporary holding place. When she fails to make any move to exit the cramped confines of the car boot, another hand takes a violent hold of her jacket collar, dragging her to the dirt beneath them.

Somehow, Emily manages to sling her legs over the lip of the boot in time to stop herself from falling face-first into the dirt. However, this is not much consolation, because the second she puts weight on her legs, they buckle. Whether it was because of the fight, or because she had been curled up in a tiny space, or just from sheer exhaustion, is unclear. Either way, when her knees heavily hit the ground, the pain in her head only intensifies. Only now, she becomes aware of new areas of discomfort. The jarring landing reveals strain in her neck and back, as well as across her ribcage, although that is likely to have been there already.

Having spent nearly a week laid up coughing and spluttering, Emily was already aching when she left her apartment that morning. Now, after being brutally overpowered, uncomfortably positioned and jostled on a hard surface, trapped in a confined space, and transitioned rapidly from warm environments to cold ones, it’s no wonder that her already strained muscles have started to revolt.

With bright specks of light floating in front of her eyes, Emily tries to peer through the shroud over her head. She hears the boot of the car slam shut, and then, with a sharp tug on her collar, the man begins to drag her toward a destination unknown. The ground is uneven and littered with sharp pieces of debris, which she can feel scratching painfully against her legs and lower back.

Intent on attempting to stand and move of her own volition, Emily kicks her legs out, trying to allow her boots to get a good grip on the earth beneath her. She can hear her the seams of her pants start to rip, but unfortunately, despite her best efforts, her attempt to regain her footing fails miserably. She notices the hand around her arm tightening, surely tight enough to leave a mark, and hears a growl escape the man’s mouth, only serving to spur her on more. She has to get up. There is no way she can get out of this if she can’t even stand.

With one final effort, Emily plants both feet firmly on the ground, squeezing her thighs together as tightly as she can, while pushing her hips into the air. But the man’s forward motion doesn’t facilitate this move, and Emily very quickly ends up flipping so that the front of her body is facing downwards, which causes her companion to lose his hold on her clothing. With an unceremonious “thump”, Emily falls face-first in the dirt. Her inability to break her fall sends a small rush of air out of her mouth. Instinctively, Emily gasps, immediately beginning to cough as dust fills her mouth and nasal canals. She gags, twists her head to the side, and continues to cough. With the sudden movement, the bag that still hangs over her head shifts, lifting to just above the bridge of her nose, allowing her to catch a brief glimpse of her surrounds. Drawing in a ragged, dust-free breath, Emily opens her eyes and takes in the early morning colours of the sky, the clouds of dust being whipped up by the wind, and the piles of rubble that sit close to the stack of construction palates close to where she lays. While her vision may have been clouded, and her mind lethargic, she is aware enough to notice how far away the lights in the distance float, and the decided lack of any of human activity. With this moment of stillness, Emily becomes aware that the only sound she could identify was her own breathing.  
As if answering her call for human contact, the man above her jerks the bag back over her face, and lets out an exasperated snarl.

‘For fuck’s sake! Get up, bitch!’

In a manner almost as violent as the rage that laced his words, Emily’s arm is once again taken in a vice-like grip. This time she is heaved into a more upright position, and once again finds herself being forced to move. From the first tenuous step, she is stumbling, tripping over her feet and the uneven terrain below her. With her left side being held close to the man, and completely unaided on her right, it is almost impossible not to trip with nearly every step. There is never a moment to regain balance though, as the man forges on, despite having to drag Emily’s almost dead weight. Even though she hates having to admit it, Emily finds herself completely reliant on the man leading her to guide her.  
When they suddenly halt, Emily fleetingly wonders if this might be her chance to try to escape, but no sooner than the thought passes through her head, her attacker speaks again.

‘Step up. Keep going until I say stop.’

Six steps later, Emily’s breath is shallow and rapid, and sweat has started beading on her forehead. Barely able to stand due to exhaustion and dizziness, she is given no time to recover, immediately being dragged through a narrow doorway, and made to begin ascending another flight of steps. The space she is now moving through is considerably cooler, and feels very confined. She considers for a moment that she is probably ascending an internal fire escape, the sheer number of stairs, and the shape of the stairwell confirming this theory.

As her breathing gets more and more strained from exertion, the subtle hints of nausea that she has been experiencing become much more pronounced. The man next to her has noticed her abnormal breathing, and doesn’t think too much of it when Emily starts to cough. However, when they reach the beginning of the fourth flight of stairs, and the nature of the coughing abruptly shifts to gagging, it quickly becomes apparent what the next course of events will be.  
Emily falters, misjudging the height of the next step and subsequently stumbling, landing heavily on her right knee. As soon as she hits the ground she folds forward, stomach clenching tightly, forcing what little liquid was left from her breakfast onto the ground below her. The man above her immediately recoils, trying hard not to gag himself, utterly disgusted by what is happening before him. Emily takes in a gasping breath, chest crackling loudly. However, her momentary relief that the vomiting has stopped is quickly overrun by panic, as the wet cloth covering her face is drawn into her mouth with each breath. She begins to shake her head desperately, trying to shake the material off her head to enable her to breathe properly. Her struggling is put to an end when the man reaches out and rips the shroud off her head, pulling her off balance as he does so. She wobbles on her perch, overcompensating when trying to right herself, and toppling off the step she is seated on. She falls, tumbling down the few steps they had climbed, and hitting the far wall solidly. Once again, the air is taken from her body, and she is left spluttering on another cold, hard surface.

She manages to prop herself up slightly, however her relief at this feat is short lived. She gags for the second time, heaving her way through another vomiting episode. This time though, there is nothing to bring up. It seems that every ounce of air that she brings into her body is almost immediately taken away. Eventually though, her breathing returns to the dismal state it was in, and her body starts to find its equilibrium. She leans back, shoulders against the staircase wall behind her, head tipping back toward the ceiling, eyes closing, breathing in as much cool air as she can get. As her focus moves away from her cramping stomach, she once again feels the aches and pains that have accompanied her to this destination. She stills, willing them to stop throbbing; willing them to give her a few moments of relief.

The man cautiously steps toward the woman crumpled before him, unsure of what will happen when he attempts to lift her again. He watches as her eyes lazily open, unfocused but still tracking his slow movement toward her. He pauses, reaching back up the staircase grasping the hood before advancing upon Emily and once again covering her face. The overpowering stench of the damp vomit saturating the material is overwhelming, and Emily has to make a concerted effort not to be sick again, especially when she feels a familiar hand close around her arm, pulling her into a standing position. This time, the man keeps his distance, leading her to the base of the staircase before standing behind her and pushing her upwards.

With her hands still bound behind her, Emily struggles to keep her balance, but fortunately the remainder of the climb is short, the man once again taking hold of her arm and guiding her out of the staircase. Emily blindly stumbles forward, body jerking in all directions as she tries to stay upright. The man walks quickly now, and turns, pulling her sharply to the right. Emily collides with the doorframe with her left shoulder, throwing her remaining balance off. She stumbles as her body continues to move forward, and trips, landing first on her knees, and then on her right side.

Frustrated by her inability to move where he wanted her to go, when he wanted her to go there, the man forgoes allowing her the ability to move on her own, instead taking hold of her shirt and jacket collars once more. Emily is violently dragged further inside the room. However, as quickly as the movement began, it stops. Emily is abandoned in mid air, and left to connect with the cold, concrete ground beneath her. Footsteps grow softer before they become inaudible, and Emily take a moment to breathe.

Finally alone, tears begin to fall from her eyes, steadily making tracks through the dirt and grime that already cover her face and neck. This is all too much. It’s a nightmare that she can’t wake up from, and one that she desperately wants to escape. She aches, she’s tired, and most of all, she’s scared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello readers, it’s lovely to be back!  
> Quick note: in this story, Emily’s apartment is the one that we see in ‘In Name and Blood’.
> 
> Okay, so, shoutouts. My eternal gratitude to my friend, Kae. She is my beta on this story and it so patient with me. Also, to the people who have reviewed this new version of the story, here’s to you!
> 
> This story is going to be dark, and as a result, some actions and reactions from different characters that might seem out of character (OOC). So, let me be clear. I am NOT interested in any comments about how the reactions of characters are incorrectly described. What is happening in this story is traumatic, and there is no way to predict how people will respond to trauma. They may display a more common response, such as anxiety or depression, but it important to note that triggers are unique and unpredictable. And, just as triggers are unpredictable, so too are reactions. So, while the behaviour of characters in this story may not fit your narrative, they fit mine, so you need to respect that.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: stalking (including having pictures taken without knowledge or permission)

Friday. 0940.

‘Okay, everyone,’ Aaron Hotchner says, making his way into the briefing room quickly, halting behind the chair directly opposite the screen. ‘We’ve been called in to assist with recovering an escaped inmate.’ Nodding to Garcia, Hotchner continues, directing the team’s attention to the pictures now displayed on the television screen. ‘Twenty-five minutes ago, the Bureau was contacted by the Virginia State Department of Corrections, requesting assistance after a high-risk inmate disappeared following a fire and subsequent rioting. As I’m sure you’re aware, the rioting turned into a seventy-two hour siege, which ended early this morning. It took officials on the ground nearly eleven hours to contain the scene, remove any bodies, evacuate civilians, employees and injured parties to area hospitals, and finish thorough headcounts. It was discovered at the end of this process that one inmate and one guard were missing.’

The team sat in silence, listening intently to what they were hearing, making notes as Hotch continued his briefing.

‘The missing guard’s name is Walter Roberts. Initially it was believed that two guards were missing, however on a secondary sweep of a control room, the second guard was found dead in a locked storage closet. Our main problem, however, lies with the escaped inmate,’ he continued. ‘Garcia,’ he nodded.

Taking charge now, Garcia stood and bought a prison mugshot up on the screen. The already silent room stilled as each member of the team registered who was looking back at them.

‘Karl Arnold, a.k.a. “The Fox”, is believed to have escaped with the help of Roberts when the siege ended late last night. After reviewing the security footage, it is believed that Roberts and Arnold stole an unmarked vehicle to exit the compound.’ Bringing up the footage, Garcia continued. ‘This was recorded only minutes after the hostages were released. Two men in guard’s uniforms can be seen ducking away from the triage area and heading around the command centre towards the carpark. This one here,’ Garcia says, pointing to the taller, lankier man, ‘is believed to be Roberts. He approaches numerous cars, seemingly testing the doors until he finds one that is unlocked. The two of them then climb in and drive toward the gate, where the guard on duty there lets them through, and they drive off heading southbound.’

Hotch resumes control of the room and informs the team that the guard on the security gate has been interviewed and is not a person of interest. He did however, identify both Arnold and Roberts when showed a photographic line-up.  
‘A state-wide BOLO has been issued for the car, but nothing has come of it yet.’

Spencer Reid is the first one to talk, speech characteristically fast as his brain switches into gear.

‘Is there any indication of where they may be going? Anything in Arnold’s personal effects, or Robert’s locker and car?’

Hotch shakes his head, unable to verbalise his response before Reid is talking again.

‘The BOLO needs to be extended nation-wide then. They’ve had a significant head start and may have already crossed borders. If they’ve switched their mode of transport, it may be harder to find them, but at least we will know the direction that they are travelling and possibly how they are travelling. Even if they headed southbound out of the gate, it would be very easy to double-back and head in a different direction, especially if they knew that they would have ample time to do so before anyone raised an alarm.’

‘I agree with Reid,’ Morgan piped up. ‘Roberts would have extensive knowledge of the prison system, and the way in which these sorts of situations would be handled. He would know that they would have at least a few hours to put distance between themselves and the prison before anyone even realised that they were missing.’

‘Has anyone from forensics been brought in to process Arnold’s cell?’ J.J. asks, thinking that maybe there could be something well-hidden that could point them in the direction that the men may be travelling.  
‘The Bureau has dispatched one. They’re forty minutes out. We will get there shortly afterwards. Wheels up in fifteen minutes,’ Hotch instructs, and everyone gets to their feet and walks out.  
They are nearly back at their desks when the panicked voice of Penelope Garcia shrieks for Hotch. They all stop, quickly turning and hurrying to where the woman is standing on the catwalk, tablet in hand, body shaking slightly. Rossi is the first to reach her, and she tips the tablet toward him.

‘They found Arnold’s uniform and this…it was found in the lining of the sleeve,’ Garcia manages, stumbling over each word, voice cracking.  
‘Oh, God,’ Rossi mumbles, making room for Hotch as he reaches the pair.

J.J. notes the way that the colour immediately drains from Hotch’s face, and the curse that Morgan spits out when he sees the screen. Reid falters, a small gasp the only sound he makes.

‘Morgan, J.J. and Reid, go to her apartment. Secure her immediately and bring her here. Garcia, find out as much as you can on Roberts and his interactions with Arnold. Why him? How did they do it? Get me a list of places that he has connections to that could be used to hide. And track her phone. Get me a location. Rossi, you go to the prison. Process the scene and report back with anything you find or deduce. I’ll go and brief Strauss and co-ordinate from here.’

It isn’t until they all start to disperse that J.J. is able to reach out to Penelope and tilt the tablet toward herself so she can catch a glimpse of the screen that they were all focused on.

‘Oh my God,’ she breathes. ‘Emily.’  
She locks eyes with a tearful Garcia before hurrying after Morgan and Reid, who are already on their way to the elevators.

Garcia stands alone for a few moments, heart shattering inside of her.

‘She’s going to be fine,’ she says softly to herself. ‘She’s going to be fine’

XXX

‘She has been sick though,’ Reid points out, trying to reduce the ever-deepening pit in his stomach. It was extremely unlike Emily to have her phone turned off, however as the car pulled up alongside the curb opposite Prentiss’ apartment, he finally found some slight relief.

‘Her car’s here,’ he points out, willing himself to believe that she had simply forgotten to charge her phone, and that she was sleeping peacefully in her bed.

They piled out of the SUV and began moving toward the complex with some degree of urgency. Reid reaches out to feel the bonnet of the car as they pass it, informing the other two agents that it was cold. Another good sign.

It didn’t take long to convince the superintendent to let them into the building. Taking the stairs two at a time, the agents made their way to the third floor of the building, pulling up outside their colleague’s apartment. Morgan knocked urgently, hoping that it would be enough to rouse Emily if she was asleep. With no sign of life behind the door, but with sufficient evidence to warrant concern for their friend’s safety, the agents nodded to the superintendent, and she quickly used her key to give them access to the apartment.

With weapons drawn, and flashlights in their hands, they begin searching the dark apartment, immediately forming a well-practised sweeping pattern. The main entranceway does not look any different from normal, and neither does the storage closet behind the front door. The guest room is cleared by Morgan, while Reid covers the the apartment entryway and J.J. covers the outside hallway. Silently venturing further into the space, Reid breaks left to sweep the kitchen, while Morgan covers the staircase, allowing J.J. to clear the lounge area. After soft utterances of ‘clear’ come from each of them, they begin to climb the stairs. J.J. takes Morgan’s position, covering the doorway into Emily’s bedroom while he begins to climb the stairs. He takes J.J.’s position, keeping his focus on the front door. This allows the blonde to begin ascending the staircase, gun pointed downwards, back against the wall. Reid keeps his aim on the front door, waiting for the other agents to reach the doorway before quickly joining them. With a quick countdown, they enter Emily’s room, and break apart, Reid maintaining cover by the door, Morgan veering right, casting his torchlight over the unmade bed, piles of tissues and dirty kitchenware, before clearing the built-in wardrobe that takes up the right-hand wall. J.J. steps forward, also surveying the top of bed before checking behind the dresser to her left and turning quickly to examine the space between the far left wall and the queen-sized bed. Once these were cleared she moved back to the corner next to the dresser, crouching down and pointing her weapon toward the partially open door of the ensuite. She was soon joined by Morgan, who swiftly entered the room and cleared it. 

They opened the curtains, very aware that they were in the bedroom of one of their closest friends. Their eyes took a moment to adjust, but once they did the disarray of the room became completely apparent.

‘Damn it, Prentiss,’ Morgan sighs.

‘Did any of you know?’ J.J. asks.

The men shake their heads, all of them kicking themselves for not realising how unwell their friend truly had been.

J.J. heads to the bathroom off the master bedroom, noting the sudd marks rimming the bathtub from where the water had been left in for too long without draining. There is a large pile of dirty clothes in the corner underneath the free-standing sink. The bin is overflowing, and she reaches out to retrieve an empty medication box poking through the mountain of dirty tissues. She turns, cataloguing what she is seeing, before returning to the main room to pass the box onto Reid.

‘I found these in the bathroom, along with more tissues than you can imagine,’ she shares.

Reid is standing next to the bedside table which is littered with medication containers, a couple of cups, a tub of menthol rub, some nasal spray and an asthma puffer.

‘She’s got prescription pain killers, antibiotics and steroids here,’ he says.

‘Steroids?’ Morgan asks quizzically, reaching over the bed to lift the covers where they seem to have landed after being thrown off by their friend.

‘To open her airways, I think,’ Reid supplies. ‘Emily just said she had the flu, right?’

‘That’s what she told me when I spoke to her,’ J.J. answered. ‘Why?’

‘I think she’s had an infection. By the looks of these medication doses, it’s a bad one too. The combination of the inhaler, antibiotics and steroids seems to suggest a possible chest infection, one that she is unlikely to have recovered from yet.’  
‘What does that mean, Reid? How sick is she?’ Morgan pushes, worry increasing by the second.

“Well, this is a ten-day course of antibiotics,’ he says, removing the lid of the bottle and shaking the tablets into his hand. ‘One tablet, twice a day is twenty tablets in total, and there are fifteen here. So she is on day three of ten. Improvements usually aren’t seen for at least forty-eight hours, and combined with what we know about the severity of the infection,’ he continues, pausing before finishing his train of thought. ‘It’s not good. She needs another dose tonight or she will deteriorate, and without the aid of the steroid or inhaler, she could very well become critical in a matter of days.’

J.J., on the verge of tears, excuses herself, quickly descending the stairs trying to collect herself. The men give her a moment before joining her at the foot of the staircase.

‘Okay,’ Morgan said forcefully, pulling their attention back into focus. ‘Let’s look around down here. What’s out of place? Is anything missing?’

J.J. walks toward the window, pulling the heavy curtain aside, allowing daylight to stream in through the enormous window. It was then that the unkempt state of the lower floor became completely apparent. There were dirty dishes all over the place, rubbish ranging from cereal boxes to piles of tissues covering most surfaces, and the normally organised living area was a mess of pillows, blankets and DVD cases. On the staircase behind them, a pile of magazines had been discarded in one corner, and a sweater had been stuffed between one of the rods holding up the hand rail.

‘God,’ J.J. mutters. ‘How did I not realise she was this bad?’

Morgan looks at her, gently saying, ‘how could you have known though? You know Emily – she plays things close to the vest.’

‘I spoke to her last night, Morgan. I was going to come over with some food and tissues, but she said she was fine. She always says she is fine,’ J.J. finishes, her distress now evident in her voice.

Reid steps toward her, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

‘It’s okay, J.J.,’ she offers, but she is not interested in being placated.

‘It’s not “okay”, J.J. spits back, shrugging Reid’s hand away. ‘None of this is “okay”. God, Reid. First you tell us that, not only are Emily’s whereabouts unknown, but she is extremely sick, and then you say that it’s “okay”.’

‘J.J.,’ Morgan warns, willing her to stop before she goes too far. They were all worried about Emily, and all felt guilty for letting her slip through the cracks over the past week, but it wouldn’t help anyone if they were being hostile toward one another.

‘No, Morgan, just stop,’ J.J. finishes, hand raised to indicate that she wasn’t willing to listen to him any further, before turning on her heel and marching toward the door.

Again, Morgan called her name, to which she replied, ‘I’m going outside to call Hotch. I’ll be you by the car,’ before pulling the door closed behind her with a loud bang.

Morgan looked over to Reid, who in turn faced him, a look of bewilderment and guilt written plainly across his face.

‘She’s just worried,’ he offers, and they follow behind the blonde.

Upon exiting the building, they ask the superintendent to lock up, and to call them if she saw or heard from Emily again.

Stepping into the open air again, a chill swept through the men as an icy breeze whipped past them. They bury their hands in their coat pockets and walk with their heads down toward where J.J. is standing, finishing her call with Hotch.

‘Okay, Hotch,’ she said quickly. ‘We’re heading back now.’

She turned back to the men, face stony, skin pale. In answer to the unspoken question lingering in the air, she simply pursed her lips and shook her head slightly: there was no news on Emily’s whereabouts.

‘Hotch asked us to come back in to go over Arnold’s records and correspondence, and follow up on any avenue that may link him and Roberts together outside of prison,’ she supplies, and they all turn toward where their vehicle sits. However, while Morgan and J.J. begin to move toward the SUV, Reid instead moves to the rear window on the passenger side of Emily’s car.

‘What is it, Reid?’ J.J. asks, slowing her steps cautiously.

‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I thought I saw something.’

He cups his hands around his face, peering further in through the glass before he processes what he is seeing. A poker chip. A red poker chip attached to a keyring. A keyring that he gave Emily after she once again beat him in his own game. A keyring that he knew held her house, work and car keys. A keyring that she would not leave lying haphazardly in the backseat of her car.

Moving with renewed urgency, Reid reaches down and tests the door handle before him, pulling harshly on it as it swings open. He looks up toward his colleagues, eyes wide and scared.

Morgan moves first, immediately moving to look through the driver’s side window, where he has a clear view of Emily’s thermos and winter coat. He looks up to where Reid was previously standing, just in time to see him standing back up, lips parted slightly, Emily’s crushed phone between the glove he now held in his hand.

‘Guys,’ J.J. wavers. ‘I’ve got blood.’

XXX

Red and blue lights light up the quiet, unassuming neighbourhood like strobe lights at a club. The forensics team have started to trickle in, as have numerous FBI personnel. Curious onlookers track their every move, whispering to each other urgently. Aaron was wrapping up his briefing with Section Chief Strauss when he had received the call for assistance from Morgan. With a cursory glance around the cordoned area, Hotch spots the members of his team. Morgan has approached a group of civilians milling about the entrance to the building, presumably some the tenants in the neighbouring apartments. One is holding a reusable bag which appeared to be full of food, and another holds a young child, no more than two years old. The boy is squirming, the mother unsuccessfully trying to get him to settle down. Morgan crouches putting himself into the child’s line of sight, speaking to him in a way that results in a small giggle. Moving on, still walking towards the centre of the taped-off area, the unit chief sees Spencer Reid, pointing at something on the ground. The forensic technician standing next to him is nodding furiously, following what is sure to be a rapid-firing of facts and directions from the young agent. The final team member, and the one that he is approaching, is standing nearly motionless, staring at the section bitumen below her, where another technician is kneeling, rubbing a cotton swab against the road.

He calls out to her, and JJ turns, worry written deep within the contours of her face. She nods, and returns her gaze to the ground as he sidles up beside her.

‘It appears to be blood,’ the man below declares, holding the now bright-pink stained swab up for them to see. He reaches toward the kit sitting next to him, replacing the small dropper into the bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting on the top tier of the open box. He then finds a cylindrical case and slides the swab in, sealing the lid tightly. ‘You know the drill though,’ he continues distractedly, referring to the conclusive tests that the agents will be receiving at a later juncture.

The agents nod their thanks, and take a few steps to the side, avoiding the darkened patch of road before moving toward Emily’s SUV. The doors are open, and a team of experts are finishing pulling on their protective gear.

‘Her keys were are on the floor in the backseat, and Morgan found a thermos and her coat in the front,’ J.J. states solemnly. ‘Reid found her phone in the gutter. It’s on its way to Garcia now.’

‘Did you find anything in her apartment?’ Hotch asks, moving slowly around the bonnet of the car, examining the vehicle and road as he goes.

‘Apart from the medication, nothing suspicious. The house is a mess, but it looks more like she was too sick to clean up. There are dirty dishes, and piles of clothes and tissues everywhere. A few things like that, but nothing to suggest that someone was in there with her,’ she adds.

‘Okay,’ Hotch nods, looking toward where Morgan and Reid are now talking before moving toward them, J.J. following closely behind.

‘Anything?’ he asks when the agents turn toward him. Reid simply shakes his head, and Morgan mumbles his negative response. ‘Okay, here’s what we’ll do. J.J., I need you to head back to the office. Co-ordinate with Garcia and Rossi to try to tie Arnold and Roberts to Emily. There must have been some point of contact somewhere along the line. Morgan and Reid, go door-to-door and see if anyone heard or saw anything this morning, but also ask about the last few days. Were there any suspicious vehicles or people in the area? Did they see something that didn’t sit right? Anything along those lines. I’ll go and speak with the forensics lead and call you when they open the apartment and vehicle to us.’

The agents all nod, turning to walk towards their various assignments, but Hotch adds one thing before they leave.

‘I know this is personal, and I know that we don’t have much time, but we need to take our time processing this information. We can’t afford to miss anything.’

A silent nod passes between the agents, all equally as aware of what is at stake, and all equally as terrified about losing whatever battle they were about to face.


End file.
